


Linger

by Hatterized



Category: The Walking Dead & Related Fandoms, The Walking Dead (Comics)
Genre: Developing Relationship, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-05
Updated: 2019-06-05
Packaged: 2020-04-08 11:14:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19105978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hatterized/pseuds/Hatterized
Summary: Negan's cabin turns out to be built for two





	Linger

**Author's Note:**

> i apologize in advance because im too lazy to proofread

Rick shows up on Negan’s shabby doorstep at dawn in the late winter. He’s bundled in jackets, scarf wound up to his nose, hat pulled down nearly over his eyebrows, but Negan would recognize those bright eyes anywhere.

“I needed a vacation,” he says by way of explanation when Negan can only gawp stupidly, like he hasn’t fantasized about this exact scenario nearly every day that he’s been out here.

There’s a half-foot of snow on the ground and Negan’s little cabin, while admittedly more cozy than the state he found it in, is hardly a resort.

Rick drops his bulging backpack on Negan’s kitchen table that is rarely- if ever- used. He usually just hunkers down in front of the fire these days. “Go on,” he says, like he’s encouraging a child to unwrap a Christmas gift.

There’s a sackload of little blessings inside- jarred fruits and veggies, two loaves of bread wrapped up tight, some dried meat that makes Negan’s mouth water.

“Well, well, well,” he croaks, finally finding his voice, “Rick fucking Grimes. All this time I thought I was on the naughty list, but it looks like Santa came to visit after all. You mind if I sit on your lap?”

He can practically _feel_ Rick rolling his eyes. “I think that part usually comes before the gifts.” He shrugs out of the bulkier of his layers, revealing a warm, knitted blue sweater beneath that makes Negan want to cuddle up to him and lay his head on Rick’s chest. “You’ve got a fireplace in here, I’m guessing.”

Negan can’t help himself. “You gonna come down my chimney?”

Rick ignores him. “I’m gonna light a fire. Pork and beans taste like shit when they’re cold.”

Negan’s heart skips a beat and his stomach growls. “Aw, sweetheart, you remembered.”

Rick’s already striking a match. “Ho ho ho.”

* * *

Negan’s too afraid to ask questions. Thinks that if he pushes his luck, he’ll wake up one morning and Rick will be gone.

He’s not sure if he’d survive it.

Still. It’s been over a week of Rick sleeping on the cot beside him, checking the traps in the woods just beyond the cabin with him, eating meals at the kitchen table with him. He needs to know.

“Why are you here, Rick? I mean, far be it from me to look a gift horse in the fuckin’ mouth, but…” he trails off, the rest of it obvious: _why come here to live in a shitty shack in the middle of bumfuck nowhere with a guy who you used to hate when you could be in a warm house surrounded by people who adore you?_

Rick carefully pries a skinny red fox free of the snare he’d laid early that morning. It’s small, but more than enough for two. “I needed a change,” he answers with a shrug that feels all to cavalier for what’s going on. “So many people have moved on. Carl’s at the Hilltop most of the time. Michonne’s still at the Commonwealth- she found her daughter there. Said she was thinkin’ about coming back home soon, but she’s got her own family. Alexandria’s runnin’ just fine, and it’ll keep running without me.”

He tucks the fox away into the leather bag over his shoulder. “And besides,” he adds with a smirk, “you never would have lasted the winter without me showin’ you how to make a proper snare.”

* * *

It snows for three days straight, and they don’t leave the cabin. Not to hunt, not to get fresh air, not to take a piss. The tip of Rick’s nose is perpetually pink with cold, and it’s distracting.

On the second night, Negan’s tossing and turning trying to fall asleep despite the chill, and then he feels the mattress dip beside him and his heart stutters to a stop.

“Move over,” Rick murmurs in his ear, so close that his breath warms Negan’s cheek, “or we’re both gonna freeze.”

Negan thinks he may possibly be dreaming. That’s the only rational explanation he can come up with in the moment, because there’s not a chance in hell that Rick is actually in bed beside him, socked feet tangling together, arm around Negan’s waist as he spoons up against his back.

And yet, _somehow_ , when Negan wakes up the next morning, Rick is still there.

* * *

Carl comes to visit when the worst of the snow has subsided. He looks older, more confident- his ruined eye is on display without shame, his hair is getting long, and Rick looks at him like he’s never been more proud of anything in his life.

When he leaves, Negan chances a clap on the shoulder, and Carl grins, says, “look out for my dad, alright?”

As if Negan’s the one taking care of him.

* * *

The first time Rick leaves to go to Alexandria and trade for more food, Negan is a wreck. He uncorks the bottle of wine that’s stashed in the cupboard and is blubbering on the kitchen floor after a single glass.

 _He’s never coming back_ , he thinks over and over again, and even though the dead walk among them, _this_ is the thing that feels like the end of the goddamned world.

When sunset begins to creep in, Negan finally sees Rick’s figure making its way toward the cabin, and he loses his mind a little. Call it relief.

He can’t help himself. He sprints out the door and meets Rick thirty yards out. Rick is laughing a little, amused by Negan’s eagerness, and his cheeks are pink and chapped with cold and his eyes are bright as ever, and then Negan’s hands are on him- his shoulders, his arms, up to his neck, cupping his cold cheeks-

He’s not sure who starts it, but all at once, Rick’s lips are on his, and they’re cold and Negan’s are warm and he can’t seem to stop, not to breathe or to explain himself, because kissing Rick Grimes is the best thing that’s happened to Negan since the world fell apart.

Rick’s cheeks are still pink when Negan finally lets up, but it’s not from the cold.

* * *

The first time is inevitable. They’ve been sharing a bed for the whole of winter, trading kisses for weeks, falling asleep curled in each other’s arms. Rick is warmth and Negan wants nothing more than to bask in him.

It doesn’t last as long as Negan liked to fantasize it would, but to be fair, it’s been a good, long time. They only get each other’s clothes halfway off, legs tangled together beneath heavy blankets. Their kisses are half-moans into each other’s mouths while their hands work, rutting against each other like desperate teenagers until Negan bites his lower lip and comes hard. Rick’s breath hitches, hips bucking, and they make a mess between them.

* * *

Rick is an early bird, always rising before the sun is up. When spring begins to melt the harsh edges off of winter, Negan finds him outside every morning working in the dirt.

“I was never any good at gardening,” Negan confesses when Rick asks him to join in. “Kept trying and fucking trying to grow some goddamned squash in the fall. Only things that didn’t die were sunflowers.”

Rick squints up at him through the sun, a smile on his pretty pink mouth. “I’ll teach you.”

* * *

Rick starts him off with tomatoes- _the easiest thing to grow_ , he claims. Negan tends to them night and day, eager to please and desperate to prove that he doesn’t fuck up everything he touches.

His first harvest isn’t exactly a bounty, but they’re ripe and sweet, and Rick gushes over them like Negan won the county fair. They make an ordeal of it, fresh tomato sauce on pasta with the last of the bread Rick traded for, Negan’s sunflowers decorating their kitchen table.

* * *

Slowly, Negan learns to be okay when Rick leaves for the day to visit Carl or Alexandria. He brings news home to Negan like he’s a part of the community.

“Carl and Lydia are doin’ real well. I wasn’t sure about her at first, but I think they’re good for each other. He’s getting the hang of blacksmithing, too- here’s the knife he made me. Said it’s time I got a new one.”

“Michonne’s finally back from Ohio. Said the Commonwealth wasn’t for her. Elodie’s the spitting image of her.”

“I traded those fox pelts for some more bread and milk. We really should think about keepin’ animals here. Maybe a goat or two. I miss cheese.”

Negan busies himself by building a fence around the cabin and garden, and then takes to refurbishing an old porch swing that he found and dragged home in the back of the pickup they keep parked nearby. Rick seems, to him, like the kind of man who’d appreciate a porch swing.

Every time Rick leaves, Negan waits for him out on the swing. He panics less and less each time.

He’s beginning to realize that Rick will always come back to him.

* * *

They’re on the rickety front porch at sunset, the orange- pink of the sky fading into a blanket of deep navy all around them. Rick’s shoulder is warm and solid against Negan’s own as they creak back and forth on the porch swing, the slight breeze welcome in the lazy summer air.

For the first time in years, fireflies flicker around between trees and above the grass. Negan keeps pawing at them like a cat, trying to chase one down. They always seem to zig when he zags, skirting away from his fingertips.

“Damn things never liked me as a kid, either.” He was always one to keep them in jars, poke holes in the top and dump in some grass and berries in hopes of them sticking around.

Rick has his palm outstretched, careful and watchful, and manages to scoop one up on the first try. Of course. He curls his fingers in just enough to coax it to linger, and the two of them watch as it lights up once, twice in the palm of his hand.

“Some things require a gentle touch,” Rick hums, teasing threaded lovingly into his tone. The firefly climbs his finger, and Rick touches the tip of his to Negan’s, letting it crawl into Negan’s own large palm. There’s a feather-light skittering of tiny legs, a single cheerful glow, and then it achieves liftoff, hovering away into the night with the rest.

“Do they know you’re here?” Negan has to ask. Has to wonder if he’s a well-kept secret.

Rick hums and nods, and Negan feels something tighten in his chest. “They know. People were going to wonder.”

“And they just let you leave?” Because if it were Negan in their shoes, he would have held tight and never let Rick go.

Rick chuckles. “I wasn’t a prisoner there, Negan.” That should probably make Negan feel some kind of way, but it doesn’t. He served his time, and now he’s here, Rick at his side. “I told them where I was going. They have things under control in Alexandria. It was time for me to hang up my hat, so to speak.”

There’s another question pressing at the edges of Negan’s mind, but he’s too afraid to ask.

Rick, in that odd way he has, seems to read Negan’s mind.

“I told them to let me know if they need me.”

Negan holds his breath. Rick settles more comfortably against him.

“I also told them not to need me.”

**Author's Note:**

> anyway fuck kirkman this is what they deserve


End file.
